What I Did For Love
by LilyHermione
Summary: *LoL* It has a promising start at least...Ron and Harry spy on Hermione and VIktor :)


A/N: (I am beginning to notice a certain trend... I name all of my romantic fics after lines of a song... This one is from *A Chorus Line*.) Anyway, ever since the close of the fourth book, I always wanted to know if Hermione ever did go see Viktor Krum over the summer... Well, for any of you who have ever wanted the answer to this question, I present Ms. Joanne Kathleen Rowling ~*applause*~applause*~ All right, so there is no way I could ever give you the exclusive scoop, but that is why we have fanfiction!! So sit back, and enjoy!!   
  
**"What I Did For Love"**   
  
"Do you have any idea how much trouble we will be in?" Harry Potter chided his red-headed companion as they hurried down a bustling avenue goodness-knows-where.   
  
"The Dursley's will probably do what Draco Malfoy has been wanting to do to me all these years when I get back and that's nothing to what Hermione is going to do to YOU when she finds out what you are doing."   
  
"No need to sound _like_ Hermione at a time like this." Ron muttered as he plighted determinedly across a busy intersection.   
  
Harry decided to ignore him and trudged along behind him, staring at the sidewalk, and shivering against the harsh winds of a Bulgarian autumn. Hogwarts would be starting soon, very soon indeed, and here he was in a country he couldn't even find on a muggle atlas, let alone that of a wizard, but that was beside the point. Any other year, he would have been in Diagon Alley, racing in and out of shops, stuffing himself with the goodies and sweets that merry-looking witches peddled on the glistening sidewalk, all very magical.   
"Aha!" Ron shouted. Harry ran into his back. He hadn't realized how fast he had been walking, deep in his thoughts.   
"What? For goodness _sake_, Ron."   
Harry thanked his lucky stars once again, (Dear Weasley had "Aha!"-ed fifteen times before), for keeping him from slipping on the falling snow and breaking his neck. Ron was standing victorious in front of a quaint sign, wearily bearing the name of "Peak Station". This of course, was all in a language that was a mystery to both boys, but what wonders those bothersome little translations on the bottoms of brochures can do for one someday. Never underestimate their importance. Now take care to remember that. Anyhow, as Ron was standing in the middle of the walkway, poised with his finger extended like some ancient conqueror or sad excuse for a bird bath, there came the ever so familiar sound of an approaching train. In came a turquoise steamer, tugging behind it twelve gleaming coaches, all proudly parading in a row. The train whined to a stop and smoke emitted from its sides, engulfing everything within twelve feet around it in a cloud of hazy steam. When all had cleared, and the chattering crowd had thinned, Ron and Harry weaved their way in and out of passerby-ers and passengers. Once again, Ron stopped unexpectedly and Harry, as he had done only a few moments before, skidded to a stop but slammed into his friend's back.   
  
"_Honestly_, Harry. I believe Hermione's begun to rub off on you," Ron muttered over his shoulder, always keeping a careful gaze on the open door of the fifth coach.   
  
"Ha! You really should listen to yourself sometimes," Harry retorted, brushing his bangs out of his eyes. The very hustle and bustle of the train station was making him homesick. Back in England, it would be just about time to start packing for the forthcoming year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.   
  
As Harry's mind wandered, Ron began to pace. He was increasingly beginning to worry. _This was Hermione's train, wasn't it?_   
  
Ron began walking very fast, hoping that perhaps Hermione had already gotten off, muttering about that you-know-what with whom Hermione was affiliated. Harry followed, muttering uncharacteristically about deranged adolescents.   
  
They stopped dead.   
  
A girl with wavy brown hair and sparkling chocolate eyes was stepping off the train, tugging arduously on the handle of her bag.   
  
"Hermione?"   


"Wow, Hermione!" (Harry, of course. He is rather redundant, isn't he?) And indeed it was. She was carrying along a battered old textbook and it was the reading glasses that swung precariously in her grip that gave her identity away.   
  
She looked so different... so _pretty_. It appeared that Ron had just lost a long-holding bet with Harry on whether or not Hermione even owned anything that could fall under the category of "cosmetics." (Her Yule Ball get-up was all Lavender, of course...So much for that theory...and to those two galleons that Ron had in his pocket at the moment.)   
  
As the two boys pondered this bit of irony for a moment, Hermione had managed to pull her cumbersome luggage away from the train. Then came a tall, dark figure, warmly clad, towards her. It was none other than world famous (well, wizarding world famous, at least) Viktor Krum, the Bulgarian Quidditch Seeker. He leaned down and Ron could have sworn (and did, in fact, swear under his breath) that he had just given Hermione a kiss, but dear Ronniekins was in that denial stage that comes right before acceptance. :)   
  
Harry lunged after him and grabbed onto his shirt collar in order to prevent Ron from "popping good ol' Vicky one."   


"Get off, Harry!" shouted an enraged Ron waving his arms about wildly making those about them stare. Harry only hoped that the racket did not attract the attention of Hermione and Viktor doing...whatever they were doing over next to the train...   
Perhaps it was better that Ron was carrying on, distracted from his target for a moment...   
  
Ron was still cursing (and not in the wizard sense, mind) poor Krum out of his dragon hide overshoes as Harry and he followed the couple out of the station.   
  
Harry had a headache. Could you blame him? However, he kept up with his counterpart who was lumbering through the snow.   
  
"Ah now, would you look at that?" Ron was speaking again...sarcastic as usual.   


"I daresay Vicky's mummy has come to meet them."   
  
"At least they'll be in a nice, warm car all the way home," Harry chattered while blowing into his hands to keep them from freezing solid.   
  
"Come on," Ron chided and dragged his poor friend along behind him...determined to keep Hermione and Viktor within eyeshot.   
  
Harry honestly couldn't remember how he got there, but the next thing he knew, Ron was in (yes,I repeat, IN) the Krum's front hedge...and plotting his next move. He was doing a great deal of tongue-biting and random pointing.   
  
Harry was sitting on his hands, certain they were frozen beyond hope, listening for the Krum's car. He knew it sounded completely stupid but he was extremely desperate and car tires are very warm after a drive.   
  
_"Absolutely not!"_ hissed Harry towards his companion as darkness was just beginning to fall. Ron had gone completely off his rocker. Yes, all his marbles were long gone. He was prodding Harry towards an open cellar door he'd found just a bit away from their bush.   
  
"Come on, Harry. We've come this far. Besides, there might be a fireplace down there."   
  
That had done it. With a deep breath and great caution Harry Potter made his way down the steep, slippery steps towards darkness...and hopefully some heat.   
  
And so, while Harry was warming himself by a roaring fire, Ron was doing a wild victory dance. Perhaps it was the dancing flames and shadows cast on the eerie objects scattered about the Krum's basement that made his movements ever more insane.   
  
"What happens now?" Harry asked, taking care to remain close the fire and crossing his arms, becoming ever more conscious of the fact that Hermione indeed was having some impact on him.   
  
Ron stopped and with a wild flourish produced from a pocket, a small vile.   
  


It was polyjuice potion.   
  
"You have _got_ to be joking me."   
  
"Hermione's not the only one capable of keeping something important to herself, you know."   
  
Ron was beaming. Something he had not been doing since he had witnessed the departure of Viktor Krum from England.   
  
Harry wasn't even sure he wanted to know how Ron managed to acquire that crucial final ingredient (or any of them, in fact...but then, never underestimate the Weasley twins.) but one pensive look at his friend confirmed the fact that Ron had ransacked Hermione's trunk.   
  
(A/N: Ron was able to concoct his poly juice potion with ease. Ingredients that couldn't be found in the depths of Mrs. Weasley's pantry could be found in the hands of Fred and George. Remember Percy and his cauldron bottoms? Ronniekins managed to persuade him that a follow-up report with careful recording and observation would be most certainly advantageous. As we have seen in "Chamber of Secrets," there is no way the Ministry can pinpoint specific users of magic in one household. Ron is off the hook!)   
  
The week dragged on and for Ron, there never was a dull moment. Indeed there were some close calls. Such as the time when Harry, once again, was freezing, went to look for a blanket, and almost ran into Viktor as he was stumbling to the bathroom one morning.   
  
The afternoon before Hermione was to board her train for home, she had taken Viktor to a small park for ice skating in muggle Bulgaria. (She never fails to be completely knowledgeable of her surroundings, does she?)   
  
Ron insisted that they follow along, as they had done with every one of the couple's outings. Harry could only imagine how cold he would be after an afternoon on ice.   
  
At least Hermione and Viktor enjoyed themselves, very much so. Ron had attracted a great deal of attention, flailing his arms and legs everywhere for balance and, of course, slipping and sliding violently across the smooth, wet surface. If Harry had a knut for every time Ron ran into him, he could buy the entirety of Gryffindor's Quidditch team brand new Firebolts. It was a wonder how a certain couple failed to notice them.   
  
That evening, Ron was going to put twenty-nine days of stewing and bubbling to use. Harry had refused to follow along on his deed. However, after Ron was long gone and Hermione's laughter could be heard from the floor above him, he gave a start. Something must have gone terribly wrong.   
  
Harry was certain that Ron's plan had been to impersonate Hermione and tell you-know-who off for good. With a deep sigh and another bit of finger-crossing, he follwed the voices of two people above him. _This was going to be interesting_.   
  
The house was rather dark and Harry had to concentrate as to not bump into or knock anything over as he hastily searched for Ron. Heart thumping, he could just see shadows outside on the back veranda. He hastily moved towards the figures in the dark when he quite nearly tripped over something in his way to the door. That something, or rather, someone was Viktor Krum. _What had Ron done?_   
  
Harry held his breath as he slipped quietly through an exceptionally squeaky back door. When he turned around, he could not believe the scene that was unfolding before him.   
  
He had just walked in on Hermione...and...Viktor Krum (or shall we say Ron under the influence of Polyjuice Potion) at a rather intimate moment. Harry was shocked whereas he was rarely even surprised (with a life like his, how could he ever be?). He had not been expecting this. No, he had been under the impression that Hermione was going to be the one impersonated and not Viktor. That would have made things much easier for Ron and a immensely less hilarious for Harry. In fact, he had to make a mad grab for a pillow from the porch swing next to him to muffle his laughter. His emerald green eyes began to tear over and by the time he could see clearly again, his bout of hysterics ended abruptly.   
  
Viktor was no more, Ron had changed back to himself...and neither he nor Hermione was aware of that yet. Harry mind spun. _Polyjuice potion was supposed to work for an hour. Yes! When Hermione-_... Ah, but remember, it was not the A+ potions student who had concocted this spell. Ron had, as usual, overlooked the obvious. He had only consumed a tiny vile of the potion whereas drinking the entire cup's worth as he had when he transformed himself into Vincent Crabbe nearly three years ago. This was going to be interesting.   
  
Harry was half-torn between enjoying the fireworks or running for cover.   
  
He didn't have to wait long, either. At long last, someone must have decided that he or she needed to come up for air (that is my FAVORITE phrase, can't you tell?! :D ) and if Hermione had been enraged with Ron when he accused Crookshanks of doing his rat, Scabbers in during their third year, she was BEYOND livid and shocked. Ron, on the other hand, was grinning ("Couldn't even tell the difference, could ya? Huh? Huh?") the entire time she was fuming away. Poor Viktor must have regained consciousness and had stumbled towards all the noise. ("Vhat iz it, Herm-ion-ninny?")   
  
Oddly enough, Hermione, who had Ron up against the edge of the porch railing in all her rage, turned around, stalked towards a very confused Viktor,   
  
"Ooooh! Harry, if this is you- Woe betide you if I curse the both of you all the way to the Ministry of Magic!"   
  
Yet, Harry had perched himself innocently on the porch swing and was trying to make himself invisible, fearing the wrath of his best friend.   
  
Viktor Krum gave Ron a well-deserved punch on the nose, which sent Ron whimpering (my nose will be put off center!!) Hermione running for a towel, Harry scurrying behind his swing, and Viktor off in a huff.   
  
Hermione, the saintly diplomat, had forgiven Ron just long enough to drag him over to the kitchen sink and wet a towel.   
  
Unfortunately, poor Harry had been found by Viktor as he stalked back into the house and had been taken by the collar with his former Tri-Wizard Tournament rival.   
  
Not unlike Professor McGonagall, nothing and nobody can be kept secret from Hermione. Harry was soon coaxed out from under the swing and was facing his friend, who pursed her lips, once again, reminiscent of the perceptive Transfiguration instructor.   
  
Ron had taken this opportunity (in which he did not have a towel shoved up his nose) to dish out a sly remark in this moment of great tension,   
  
"Gosh, Hermione. Rita Skeeter was right. You are a scarlet woman!"   
  
A/N: This is sad. Well, at least it started out well enough. Remind me NEVER to write anything like this without my Billy Elliot CD on... Anyway, please do tell me what you think of it... This, shall we say, romantic comedy is not my preferred genre in which to write...But I've got to keep all of you entertained (and provide some comic relief) until my next "tearjerker" is finished. * LoL * :)


End file.
